While she was filling her cup from the office kitchen water cooler, receptionist Emily Adams, 27, furtively noticed a mostly-eaten tray of cookies on the counter. “They were from the noon manager meeting,” says Adams. “They always put the leftovers in the kitchen for us, which is really nice of them.”
Adams surveyed the tray of discarded store-bought cookies, “just to take a look before the office vultures descend,” she explains. There were nine cookies left, and two of them were slightly soggy from touching some wilted grapes. So really, there were seven cookies left.
As it was 2:30 and she hadn’t yet taken lunch because one of her supervisors was expecting a “very important” phone call from the company’s San Francisco office, Adams decided to indulge herself. “I feel like I’m describing the actions of some crazy person,” whispered Adams, huddled behind her desk. “I can’t believe it was really me.”
She quickly removed three small cookies from the tray and wrapped them in a napkin. “I’m allowed to take these,” she told herself, out loud, in a hushed voice, “I’m not one of those gross office beasts who hover over half-eaten trays of leftover food.”
Adams took a small cookie with pink sprinkles, a broken sugar cookie, and a dried-out rainbow cookie, which she wanted to eat last because they were her favorite. “Having a favorite cookie isn’t weird,” she says, perhaps to herself. “It’s a food designed for occasional enjoyment.”
The receptionist/hopeful actress stuck the cookie-filled napkin into the pocket of her H&M slacks before walking back to her desk. “It made a lump in my pants, but I don’t think anyone noticed,” she says. “I’m not like those office pigs who loudly grab cookies from old meeting trays. I’m discreet about it.”
After Adams returned to her desk and the coast was clear, her appetite got the better of her and she crammed all three cookies into her mouth at once. Unfortunately, the San Francisco office called at that very moment. Adams was unable to speak clearly into the phone, thereby losing the company a $4 million account.
“I’m allowed to treat myself now and then,” says Adams, over the cardboard box containing her belongings. “Today was the day I treated myself.”
